PATTERN 1 - Isopleth
8190 BCE
A tall, slender woman strode through stone corridors, her gaze fixed resolutely forward. Her face was set in an expression of intensity, but her eyes were distant. Every wall she passed was bejeweled with complex mosaics, inlaid with gemstones as much as with tile. She saw none of it, passing it by with distant eyes. Neither did she seem to see the brightly-cloaked figures that flanked her. There were plenty of sconces that should have held mage-lights (or even mundane torches), but every last one of them was dark, plunging what should have been brightly-colored glory into shadow. The only sounds that accompanied them were the hard clack of their boots and the softer rustle of her sandals as they echoed off the squared archways and high, vaulted ceilings they passed beneath.
The figures trailed her in a loose semicircle as she made her way with purposeful steps through the maze of hallways. The deeper they pressed into the heart of the structure, the more the brilliant artwork around them faded. The encrusted mosaics gave way first to elaborate carvings, then to cruder, more simplistic ones. Finally even those faded into barren stone walls that nearly blended in with the woman's grey and black robes. Her escort's shimmering, solid-colored cloaks seem obtrusive and tawdry in comparison. But appearances were of no great importance, not right now. Not given the importance of their mission.
The group stepped through one final archway and into a vast, dark chamber. Only now did the woman's pale blue eyes snap into focus. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but her attendants were already lifting their hands. A low, overlapping murmur of whispers rippled outward into the silence. From each of their upraised palms rose a sphere of light in a color to match their cloaks—one blue, one green, one yellow, one white. The four spheres drifted away from their casters, throwing fluttering shadows across the stone. They surrounded a single pillar that stood in the very center, carved like the trunk of a tree, its branches arching high above to support a ceiling that seemed to disappear into impenetrable darkness. Each circled the pillar, their flitting glow lighting up spherical knotholes carved deep into the tree's stone bark. Then each settled into a knothole and grew dim, pulsing faintly, as though waiting.
For a long moment, the group stood immobile. Then the woman breathed out a long, slow sigh. She stepped forward and reached up with one hand to touch the only remaining slot. "Not enough, I see."
"We used her power to help build this place," the figure in blue said, gesturing towards the bundle of cloth held securely in the woman's arms. "Apparently it decided she should have a say in this, as well."
"She will, someday." The woman shifted the bundle closer and smiled as it squirmed in protest. "But for today, this is all for her sake as much as for our own."
She held out a hand. After a long breath, the figure in white stepped towards her. From beneath their cloak they drew a stone cylinder roughly the length of their palm, ornately carved with a depiction of the sun. "Are you sure this isn't too rash?" the figure said, placing the cylinder in the woman's hand. "The fight is over. The Beast is gone."
"For now," the woman said. "But what will we do when it returns?"
"Fight, of course," said the figure in green. "And win."
The woman shook her head. "Maybe," she said. "Maybe we will only sleep for ten years. Twenty. Fifty. But maybe it will be a thousand years before the Beast returns, and what if none of us are left?"
The figure in yellow scoffed. "You're such a skeptic, Solanna. This temple, these guardians—I still think it's a waste. If the Beast returns, the girl won't be of any use to us like this."
A shrill cry split the still air. The cloaked figures started back a step. Solanna smiled and brought the bundle closer to her chest, rocking it gently in her arms. "He didn't mean to hurt your feelings, sunspot," she murmured. "I'm sure he's going to miss you terribly."
A tiny hand reached up from within the folds of the cloth. Solanna pushed the cylinder against its searching fingers. Another hand lifted from the bundle, this time accompanied by a happy gurgle, and with a faint pop, a sphere of orange light appeared just over the baby's head. Solanna flicked her fingers and the light spiralled up to join its fellows, settling neatly into the sole remaining slot.
Seams of light shattered up and down the length of the carved trunk. Panels of stone peeled away, revealing a translucent column filled with brilliant white light. Solanna turned to face her escort, her expression solemn. "With luck, we will never see each other again."
"There are less depressing ways of putting that," the green-cloaked figure pointed out.
"Even so," the figure in white said, "the sentiment is returned. We pray we never need you."
"Look forward to the future," said the yellow-clad figure. "Lahammu will stand, and it will thrive, with or without you two to help lead it."
The figure in blue stepped forward and leaned down over the bundle in Solanna's arms. They pushed a fold of cloth out of the way and smiled from beneath their cowl as brilliant blue eyes turned upward towards them. "Sleep well, little one," they murmured. "And you as well, Solanna. May your rest go undisturbed."
The blue-cloaked mage retreated. Solanna carefully folded the cloth around the child in her arms. She nodded once to each of the figures, who backed slowly away into the shadows. Then she turned on her heel and, without hesitation, stepped into the column of light. The panels of barklike stone trembled. They reassembled themselves around the pillar and snapped back into place. The light spilling out from between the seams flickered out, and the chamber fell silent, drenched in darkness once again.
2019 CE
Far above the towering skyscrapers, the clouds grew dark.
Aoyama Fuuka pulled her dark green jacket more tightly around her as the wind picked up, blowing insistently against the backs of her shoulders. She shielded her eyes with one hand and squinted up into the rumbling sky. Soccer practice would probably be canceled at this rate. Unless the whole team rebelled and decided to stay despite the oncoming storm. Normally if she arrived in time, she could rally them to that exact cause. But their captain liked to play it a little too safe for her tastes, and with her running late the way she was…
"THIEF!"
Fuuka's gaze snapped back down to the crowd around her. For a moment she saw nothing but milling figures, coats and umbrellas blocking her view. Then a young man dodged around someone's briefcase and shot towards her at a truly impressive speed. In his hands he carried what looked to be a cloth satchel. Trailing after him with a furious expression in her bright blue eyes was a girl who couldn't be any older than Fuuka herself. She stumbled over the hems of her orange and brown robes, muttered something foul-sounding under her breath, and caught a whole handful of her layers, hiking them all the way up over her knees. Fuuka's pale green eyes blinked once as the young man sailed past her, and then again as the girl blazed after in pursuit, her sandals slapping against the pavement.
"THIEF! PILFERER! CRIMINAL! RETURN MY BELONGINGS THIS INSTANT, OR SO HELP ME—"
Fuuka had to give the thief some credit, she supposed. He was light on his feet and much better at weaving through the crowd than his victim, who seemed baffled by the ebb and flow human bodies. But that made it feel even more satisfying when Fuuka herself sailed past both of them at a dead sprint. She spun on her heel and hooked her leg around the thief's knee, and just barely managed to leap out of the way as he lost his balance and tumbled head over heels into the pavement.
The thief struggled up to his hands and knees. Fuuka snatched the bag up from the pavement and skipped back a pace as he surged towards her. But a sharp cry rose from the crowd behind them, and the man cursed, breaking into a run in the opposite direction. Fuuka blinked once again as a dark-skinned woman in a police uniform barreled through the crowd after him. And then the wall of pedestrians closed around them, leaving the girl in orange to finish closing the distance between them. Her eyes still glowed so bright, Fuuka was sure they would start throwing off sparks at any second.
"Where," she huffed, "did you learn to run like that?!"
"Uh," Fuuka said. "I do a lot of sport things. They usually don't let you trip people, though. 'S bad sportsmanship." She held the satchel out at arm's length. "D'you still want this, or…?"
"Oh!" The girl leapt forward and snatched the bag out of Fuuka's hand. "Of course! Thank you so much!" She dove into the bag and rummaged around inside it. Then she pulled out five stone cylinders, each one about the length of her palm and each carved with a different series of symbols. Fuuka watched in bewilderment as she held all five up at once and examined them closely, and breathed a heavy sigh of relief.
"They're still here. Thank all the gods and guardians. I don't know what I would have done without your help!" The stranger reached out and caught Fuuka's hand in both of her own. "I owe you a great debt, my friend! Tell me, what is your name?"
Fuuka barely heard the question. The second the stranger's hands touched her own, a spark of static shot up her arm, and she had trouble bringing herself to focus on anything else. The world seemed to haze over green, and the only sound she could hear for an instant that felt like an eternity was the rushing roar of the wind.
"Fuuka," she heard herself say numbly.
"Fuuka," the stranger repeated. Her face broke out into a brilliant smile. She pressed one of the cylinders into Fuuka's hand and closed her fingers around it. "Thank you for helping me, Fuuka. Your willingness to take action when no one else would—I will remember it!"
Fuuka stared blankly down at the cylinder in her hand. The triangle and swirling, wind-like lines carved into its face stared just as blankly back at her. She lifted her head again, frowning—but the stranger was gone, and the crowd had already closed through the space where she had stood, leaving Fuuka alone on the sidewalk once again.
She turned the heavy stone over once or twice in the palm of her hand. Ran her fingers through her short, light brown hair. Mussed it up. Combed it flat again. Then she shrugged, dropped the cylinder into her pocket, and ambled off down the street. She supposed she should probably hurry. But she was already late for a practice that might not even be happening. She could think about...whatever had just happened...along the way.
A mist of rain hung low over the streets, hazing everything in grey.
Haruno Amane tucked a rich blue scarf in around her neck and popped the collar of her long, grey coat, hunching into the warmth. The broad awning over the storefront was nice—it kept the rain off, for now. But it couldn't protect her from the chill gathering in the air. It was growing far too chilly to wait outside like this. Maybe she should step back into the store and find some excuse to pick up an umbrella? But no. It would only be a short walk to the car once it arrived, and the valet had an umbrella of his own. She could always flag him down to come get her on foot if the rain got too much worse.
The sound of frantic footsteps caught her ear. Amane turned, narrowing blue-grey eyes into the rainfall. A figure materialized out of the dimness. Before Amane could react, the figure was under the awning with her, shivering. She pulled the sodden folds of her clothing in closer around her and gave her head a hard shake. Amane let out a sound of protest and brought her arms up to shield her face from the spray of rainwater that showered over her from the stranger's long, looping braids.
"Excuse you!" she snapped, taking half a step back. "Can't you do that somewhere else? Where you won't get innocent passers-by soaking wet?"
"Oh?" The figure blinked at her, and then down at her coat. A distraught expression crashed down over her face. "Oh! Oh, I'm sorry! Will you be alright?!"
Amane let out an irritated huff and ran her palms down along the surface of her coat. She hadn't expected such an immediate and vehement response, and it threw her momentarily off balance. "I'll be fine," she finally muttered. "This coat was well made. It won't melt under a little water."
"Really?" The stranger stepped closer, her arms folded tight over her chest. "What is it made of? Is it wool? My guardian taught me that wool repels water! Isn't that astounding? May I feel it?" She reached out a hand. Amane took another step back, and she hesitated, the light fading from her expression. "Oh. I am asking too many questions, aren't I? Please excuse my rudeness. It's just that it is very beautiful, and I have never seen a wool garment made this way before."
Amane folded her arms. "You've never seen a wool jacket," she said, skeptical.
The stranger blinked owlishly at her. "No?"
"You're wearing what has to be one of the most interesting deconstructions of a typical kimono pattern I've ever seen, with colors expertly layered from apricot to rust, all made of silk, and you've never seen a wool jacket."
The stranger picked at the sodden folds of her robes and looked away. "I didn't think it was going to rain," she murmured, her expression cloudling over. "I don't have anything else."
Amane's lips pressed into a thin, pale line. She drew in a long, slow breath and closed her eyes. Her driver wouldn't be here for another fifteen minutes at least. And it gave her an excuse to get out of the cold. What was the harm, if it only took a moment?
"You should wring out your clothes before going inside, at least," she said, nodding towards the door. "This is a relatively high-end establishment, but I don't think even off-price retailers want you dripping all over their merchandise."
The stranger's eyes widened. "What? Wait— Oh, no, no! Not if this place sells exotic wares! I couldn't!"
"Of course you can," Amane said matter-of-factly. "Come on, we don't have all day." She stepped lightly around behind the stranger and planted her hands against her shoulders, ushering her towards the door and the beckoning light within.. "There isn't much left in the way of oranges that will compliment your skin tone without bringing out grey undertones. How do you feel about cream colors? Wool is a must, obviously, if it's this much of a fascination for you, and it'll keep you much warmer than silk."
The stranger reached up to touch her hand. Amane missed a step. Her entire arm went numb. She could barely hear the sound of her own thoughts—only the overwhelming sound of the rain around her, and muted underneath it, the stranger's voice asking, "What is your name?"
"Amane," she heard herself say as though from the bottom of a well. The roaring, dizzying rainfall in her ears simply wouldn't clear. It only grew louder as the girl smiled, bright as the sun, and pressed a stone cylinder into her hand, carved along its face with impressions like waves and teardrops.
"Amane," she repeated, as though cherishing each syllable. "Thank you for helping me, Amane. Your generosity when nothing was asked or expected of you—I will remember it."
The rushing roar faded. Amane gave her head another shake, and for a long moment she stared at the girl, indecision written across her face. Then she squared her shoulders and pushed her the rest of the way through the door, into the warm and comforting light of the boutique.
Thunder rumbled overhead as the sky grew darker still.
Ikazuchi Kouji ducked under the low curtain and into the restaurant. The rain was beginning to pick up again outside, but he could barely hear it over the low murmur of voices and the clinking of bowls and chopsticks. Someone was already ordering at the ticket machine, so he took the opportunity to pull his jacket off (it was quite warm in here) and remove his glasses, wiping off the rainwater with the hem of his yellow flannel shirt.
The ticket machine made an angry rattling sound. Kouji glanced up as the customer in front of him pressed several buttons in a row, a dismayed expression on her face. The ticket-taker clacked in response and began to vibrate, and the girl stepped back, the dismay morphing into genuine alarm.
Kouji reached past her and pressed the change-dispensing button. The ticket machine hummed for another moment, as though considering its options. Then it spat out a handful of change into the cup and fell still, and the girl heaved a sigh of relief, picking up her coins.
"Thank you," she said, turning a blazing smile down at Kouji. She was taller than him by a solid four inches, and her pale orange double-breasted coat looked more suited to a high-class restaurant than a hole-in-the-wall noodle stand, but the relief on her face was genuine. "I was sure I had the gist of it. Please, if you are ready to place a request of your own—"
Kouji sighed. "No, it's fine. You were here first." He gestured at the cup. "Don't forget your change."
"Change?" The girl peered suspiciously into the cup. "Oh! Yes. My friend told me about this." She picked up the coins and held them up in the palm of her hand. "All of these equal...one of these, yes?" She held up the 1000-yen note clutched in her other hand. "And these work in multiples of ten?"
Kouji breathed in slowly and resisted the urge to rub at his temples. "Yes," he said. "Yeah, that's right. Do you know how to order?"
"I was certain I had it figured out." The stranger gave the vending machine a dubious look. "I tried to watch carefully. You simply press the button beside the food you wish to purchase, correct? And then you feed this...either the paper or the coin into the machine?"
"Well, no," Kouji said. The stranger's face collapsed, and he held up his hands, panic spiking in his chest. "I mean—yes! Yes, you had the right steps, but in the wrong order. Here." He surveyed the photographs of each food item. "Which one do you want?"
"This one," the girl said, pointing to a bowl piled high with eggs, seaweed, and plenty of other toppings. "But I cannot select it yet?"
"No." Kouji tapped the coin slot. "Put in the money first. You may as well use up those coins, they're pretty useless otherwise. Then pick what you want."
The expression of concentration on the stranger's face was almost comical. Kouji watched with thinly-veiled impatience as she slotted each individual coin into the ticket vendor with deliberate care and pressed the button for her food. She started when the vendor began to whir again, and a smile broke across her face as it printed out her ticket. Kouji reached towards the machine, but the stranger pressed the change button without prompting and collected her remaining coins from the cup.
"That was amazing!" She held her ticket up to the light, squinting at it. "Now I take this to the counter, yes?"
"Yeah, basically." Kouji struggled not to let the sour expression show on his face. Every new question he had to answer was another few seconds he wasn't picking up his food and getting on with his day. But it wasn't like he could just leave her to her own devices. No one else had bothered to help her. "They'll rip the ticket in half and take one part. You can trade the other half for more noodles later if you're still hungry, but wait until you eat everything else in the bowl first. Noodles are always more filling than you expect."
"That is wonderful advice! Thank you so much for teaching me." The girl stepped out of the way and inclined her head. Kouji reached up to start punching in his order, but found his hand seized before he could feed his money into the bill slot. He jerked back half a pace, startled—but his cry of protest was drowned under the burst of electricity that coruscated up his arm, past his shoulder, into his throat. It felt like what he imagined getting tazed must feel like. The ringing crash of thunder overwhelmed every other sound in the room, rumbling in his skull as though it were storming just beside his ear.
"What is your name?"
For a moment Kouji couldn't convince his lips to move at all. The electrical tension in his body locked him solid. "Kouji," he finally said, but those two syllables took the energy of ten.
"Kouji," she repeated, that same crackling energy lighting her eyes as she spoke. "Thank you for helping me, Kouji. Your willingness to give of your valuable time to help another in need—I will remember it."
She pressed a stone cylinder into his hand and backed away. Kouji tried to turn his head to follow her. It took several long seconds to break the paralysis of his limbs. He turned on his heel, fully intending to run the stranger down and get some answers—but she was nowhere to be seen. For a long time he simply stared into the bustling restaurant, slack-jawed, still immobilized by the power sparking through him. Then he held up the cylinder, with its jagged design radiating outward from a four-pointed star, and realized he was holding her food ticket as well.
The temperature declined steadily, and high in the grey-black sky, snowflakes began to appear.
Shiraishi Miyuki tipped his white umbrella to the side and peered past it into the clouds. It wasn't uncommon for it to flurry like this in February. In the middle of a thunderstorm, though...that was unusual. Then again, the weather had been unusual all week. This was just another bullet point for the list.
He tucked his free hand deep into the pocket of his silver-grey coat and shivered, eyeing the uncaring red hand across the street. Crosswalks were the enemy of pedestrians everywhere. It was easy to stay warm even in this cold as long as you kept moving. Having to stop every block and stand, huddled, waiting for permission to walk again…
At least there was only one figure coming across from the other direction. Miyuki glanced her way as her signal switched to the countdown timer and took a moment to admire her outfit. He hadn't seen the newest winter line from Spring Rain out in the wild yet. The peach-orange color of her coat contrasted nicely with her glowing olive skin and the richer tangerine of her mittens and scarf. She had her head down, her eyes narrowed against the flurry. The way she shivered made Miyuki pull his own coat more tightly around himself. She must not be accustomed to the cold—she looked miserable and kept casting accusatory glares up into the sky. Miyuki could count himself fortunate, at least, to be used to this kind of weather.
A car horn blared. A set of brakes began to scream. The girl's head snapped up. Her eyes went wide as saucers, and she dove for the sidewalk, but not fast enough. Miyuki's gaze darted away from her to the end of the block, where an oncoming car was beginning to fishtail, careening at full speed towards the crosswalk.
The umbrella fell to the ground, abandoned. A loud, groaning shriek of metal echoed across the intersection. Horns trumpeted. Voices screamed. Brakes squealed again and again as cars ground to a halt. Chaotic noise and color whirled up and down the sidewalk. The car careened off into the opposite lane, spun in a wide half-circle, and came to a standstill just shy of the curb. It sank groaning onto its wheels, its nose pointed at a diagonal away from the intersection, a handprint embedded deep in the passenger-side door.
Miyuki let out a breath and dusted off his hands. Then he extended one to the girl, who had thrown her arms up over her head as though it might protect her. "Even if it should be safe to cross," he said, "it's always a good idea to keep an eye on the road. You never know what might happen."
The girl's mouth hung open. Her eyes were still wide, but awe glowed in them now instead of fear. "How did you do that?!"
Miyuki smiled sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I'm kind of strong, I guess." He glanced over to the other side of the street, where a few passers-by, including a dark-skinned police officer, were helping the driver out of her car. "I have to go make sure the driver is okay. I tried to redirect the momentum instead of just stopping it head-on, but—"
The stranger caught his hand in both of hers. Ice flooded through his veins. He'd been cold already, but this was cold like a tundra, deep and inexorable. He could no longer hear the car horns or the voices or anything else around him. Nothing but a deep, sharp cracking sound, like glaciers crushing stone beneath them, and the stranger asking him, "What is your name?"
"Miyuki." His voice sounded like a whisper in his own ears, like the faint breath of winter's first snowfall.
"Miyuki," she repeated in a breath just as soft, sparkling with wonder. "Thank you for helping me, Miyuki. Your willingness to put yourself in danger to save someone you have never met—I will remember it." She pressed a stone cylinder into his palm and closed his hand around it. Then she whirled on her heel and disappeared into the throng of onlookers, leaving him to break free of the ice in his joints by himself.
"W-Wait!" Miyuki took half a step after her, tilting forward as though to break into a run, but a hand caught his arm and pulled him still. Miyuki let out a sharp breath and tightened his grip on the cylinder. He ran his thumb along the intricate snowflake patterns etched into its face, all carved in varying arrangements of diamonds. Then he turned to face the police officer, whose face shone with a potent, almost comical expression of disbelief.
"I'm going to need to ask you a few questions," she said. "And probably your friend, as well."
Miyuki shook his head helplessly. "I promise you, officer, I have no idea who that was." He looked over his shoulder into the milling bystanders, searching for any sign of her, but all he saw was dark greys and blues and blacks—no splash of orange to light up the crowd. Then he turned back to the officer with a sheepish smile. "Can I at least get my umbrella first?"
The officer's dark eyes narrowed. Miyuki exhaled a long-suffering sigh as she tugged him towards the car, away from where his umbrella lay open in the middle of the street. He could come back for it in a moment. There were more important things to deal with first.
In a wide, empty courtyard in the heart of the city, a girl clad all in orange turned shockingly blue eyes up towards the sky.
"I can feel you, you know." She shifted her weight forward and bent her knees just slightly, and slid one hand carefully into her pocket. "You aren't as cautious as you think."
A muffled sound from behind her made her start. She turned, her brows knitted—and took several frantic steps backwards as a figure in a dark blue uniform strode down the steps towards her. "Oh!" she said as the officer approached. "I didn't mean to sound as though I was talking to you! You see, there— Ah, how should I put this— There is, umm—"
The woman stopped just short of actually reaching her and folded her arms, giving her a dark, intent stare. "You've been in all kinds of weird places today, young lady, and I intend to find out why."
The girl took another step back and gave the officer a hesitant smile. "I...walk fast?"
"Oh, no you don't." The officer reached out and caught the girl's arm as she tried to back away. The motion jerked her hand out of her pocket, and with it came a stone cylinder maybe four or five inches in length. The girl made as if to dive after it, but the officer held her still as it clattered to the concrete and rolled away from them. "And what was that? Some kind of switchblade?"
"No, of course not!" The girl tugged at the grip on her arm. Her cheeks puffed out when it became clear the officer was unmoved by her feeble attempts to escape. "It is very important, and I need it! And I also need the device you have at your hip, and for you to leave. Quickly. You are in grave danger."
The woman snorted. "I think I can handle some danger, and I'm not giving you my walkie. You, on the other hand!" She dragged the girl around to face her. "You disappeared from the scene of two crimes today. You might not have done anything wrong, but you're a material witness to both! You can't just disappear without—"
"Pardon my rudeness," the girl interrupted. "What is your name, my lady?"
The woman's brows knitted in a potent blend of confusion and irritation. "Officer Kimijima Kaoru, Tokyo PD. I'm going to need you to—"
"My name is Talia," the girl said. "It is a pleasure to meet you. Now MOVE!"
Something whizzed past Kaoru's ear. A shriek of dismay rang through the courtyard as she stumbled out of the way. She regained her balance and turned to face their attacker, and her blood turned to ice.
A humanoid figure made all of some black, metallic material alighted at the top of the steps. It spread darkly gleaming wings, and let out a piercing shriek. Its head was shaped like a hawk's, with glowing green eyes and a beak that snapped fiercely at them. It crouched low and leapt from the top of the stairs, and Kaoru dove out of the way once more as it passed low over the pavement, lashing out at her with wickedly curved talons. She rolled back up to her feet and reached for her radio. Her hand passed through empty space. She looked down at the empty holster on her hip, shocked, and then back at the monster, banking in a wide turn for another pass. "What the—?!"
"I tried to warn you," Talia called. "I am sorry, officer, but I must insist that you stand down!"
Kaoru drew her pistol. The beast finished its wide turn and blazed towards her. She faced it head on and emptied her entire magazine into its face. The hawk-creature let out another shriek, but the bullets only bounced harmlessly off of its helm. Kaoru cursed under her breath and dove aside again as the creature slashed through the space she'd stood in only a moment before.
"How do you stop this thing?!" she snapped.
Talia straightened and raised one fist towards the sky. Kaoru realized she had scrambled to pick up the cylinder she had dropped. "You do not," she said, perfectly calm. "But we will!"
A blaze of orange-gold light billowed from her upraised fist. Kaoru ducked as rings of seething energy rippled overhead. The hawk-creature slowed and alighted on its feet once more, and its cry sounded almost confused. But the energy continued to expand, glowing brighter, shedding golden sparks as it radiated outward in ever-widening circles of light.
Four sharp cracks echoed through the courtyard. Kaoru ducked again, lifting her now-empty pistol on reflex. But there was no other attacker, and while there were suddenly new figures in the courtyard, none of them carried weapons. New bands of color joined the billowing orange crests—blue from the girl with the red hair and fashionable coat, white from the boy with the tie and umbrella, yellow from the boy in flannel and glasses, green from the girl in the headband and jacket. Talia lowered her fist, and when she smiled at the beast, Kaoru was surprised her teeth weren't razor-sharp.
"This is the beginning of the end, rabisu! To me, warriors of Lahammu!"
The four figures stared at Talia. Stared at Kaoru. Stared at each other. Stared at the hawk creature, and then at the stone cylinders in their hands, as though uncertain how they'd come to possess them. Then each one of them pointed to another, and in one simultaneous voice, said, "EH?"
أَن يُسْتَمَرَّ